The All Important Details
by silverwolf04
Summary: Sequel to Too Little, Too Late. When Kotova comes back to England, Sherlock is determined to find him again. Unfortunetly, he's not given all the facts. Established John/Sherlock relationship.
1. Chapter 1

A/N- This is the sequel to Too Little, Too Late. You're going to want to read that before you read this. Will be updating slowly, sorry. This is dedicated to all my reviewers who keep me writing. And my amazing beta, **ScopesMonkey**. Without her, you'd probably be reading a load of rubbish. Thank you.

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John closed the door to 221B Baker Street behind him with a soft thud and a sigh of relief to be home. It was four in the morning, an insane time to be up, however John was getting used to it. He wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

Sometimes it was the only time he could get some peace and so he hated to waste it by sleeping. Sherlock often had the same thought. It would be in those early hours that John would update his blog, read or catch up on some crap TV and Sherlock would work on experiments or some cold cases. He'd recently made a deal with Lestrade. In exchange for unlimited access to the really interesting cases, he would look over two or three cold cases a month for the DI. It was oddly domestic. At an odd time.

Then there would be the nights when Lestrade would call and they would be running around London for hours at a time solving murderers and catching criminals . John didn't mind these nights. He'd come to enjoy the work just as much as Sherlock. The thrill of the chase, the intrigue of the mystery. And of course spending as much time a possible with the consulting detective. But no matter what type of evening it was he and Sherlock always managed to spend a few hours in bed, even if it wasn't for sleeping.

Except for these nights. These nights were perfect. And then they were inevitably ruined. Sherlock had, for once, no ongoing experiments or cases. In fact he was oddly mellow. But John suspected he was still slightly high from the case they'd just solved. Well, the case Sherlock had solved. John had just corrected the cause of death. How Anderson had made it into the police force was a constant mystery that John just could not solve. Anderson had somehow managed to decide she'd been smothered. John was able to point out the clear signs of compressive asphyxiation within two minutes of arriving. When the forensics's officer had then muttered, "Oh well" to John's explanation of how compressive asphyxiation and smothering were totally different, John had had to physically restrain Sherlock, while Lestrade had pushed Anderson out of the room.

But thankfully that hadn't hindered the investigation too much and they'd soon caught the murderer. Since it looked as if they could have a quiet night in John had decided to cook for once. They often had take-away, mainly because they never had time to cook. But on occasion Sherlock liked John's fish pasta. However John found it particularly difficult to cook when he was being molested by a libido driven genius.

"Sherlock, stop it," John muttered absent mindedly as he tried to stir the cream sauce. Sherlock, however had gone conveniently deaf and continued to nuzzle at John's neck while wrapping his arms around the shorter man's waist. John, finding it hard enough to concentrate, drew the line at the embrace. Turning to talk to the detective face to face John suddenly found himself being kissed by said detective. It was long and slow and soon John forgot what he was going to say as Sherlock's tongue gained entrance to his mouth. John let him lead as he gripped at the taller man to stay upright. Every time Sherlock managed to reduce him to this. He could never get used to this and hoped he never would. Sherlock pulled away slowly, but kept John flush against him.

"Bed," John felt sure he was going to say something.

"But what about..." Sherlock stole another kiss to stop John's train of thought.

"Bed," Sherlock said again but this time he started pulling John towards their room.

Dinner was late, but Sherlock washed up to make up for it. John had finally got Sherlock to watch The Da Vinci Code. The man refused to read the actual book, but John had pinned him to the sofa to watch the film. Sherlock had of course been overly critical, saying it was completely ridiculous and implausible. But John had found it was quite fun watching it half laying on top of the detective (only to stop him leaving, of course), and Sherlock worked out all the clues much faster than Tom Hanks.

They were in bed when John's mobile rang. Thankfully, it didn't interrupt anything interesting. John had half been expecting the call would ruin his evening. That didn't make him a pessimist. Just a realist.

Harry had landed herself in the hospital again, needing her stomach pumped. John had been called as the next of kin. He didn't need to go to the hospital, but some residing brotherly loyalty made him leave his warm bed and go to his sister. He hadn't stayed to see her wake up. It would either be shouts of abuse telling him to fuck out of her life, or whispered apologies and promises to sober up. John had stopped paying attention to both years ago. He was just glad to be home.

He held some hope that maybe Sherlock was still asleep. He really should have known better.

As soon as John made it through the door he was pounced on by the six foot something genius. Sherlock sometimes reminded him of an overexcited puppy that always wanted something. Sherlock grabbed hold of John's wrist automatically, in what had become a comforting habit, whilst enveloping him in a hug. John leaned into the rather tight embrace of his lover.

"I was this close to calling Lestrade," Sherlock murmured into John's ear. On some level John found Sherlock's clingy behaviour slightly repressive. He was a grown independent doctor. And he'd invaded Afghanistan. He could go out in the middle of the night if he wanted to. But on every other level, John understood and enjoyed Sherlock's attentions.

They hadn't been apart much since the Kotova case. Since he'd been shot and technically died. John knew Sherlock was afraid of letting out of his sight again. The last time had been at the hospital and according to the doctors and nurses, he'd been in shock. John doubted Sherlock Holmes was capable of going into traditional shock, but something had certainly happened to him in that alley.

Since then he and Sherlock were never apart (they'd even been sharing a bed before they entered a sexual relationship).

The strangest thing was that John enjoyed the attention. All his life he'd played second fiddle to Harry's melodramas. He was always the after thought in his family. Dependable John, who carried on despite his sister's disasters, never the attention seeker and did what was expected of him.

Sherlock put him at the centre of his life and didn't expect anything from him except what John was more than willing to give. John could never truly find Sherlock worrying about him annoying, because he was the only one who ever really cared.

"I left a note by the lamp," John whispered into his lover's ear, not that he needed to. The man saw everything. He wouldn't miss something as obvious as a note. Plus if he hadn't found the note, Sherlock would have called Lestrade by now, after determining that John was not in the flat and had been gone for several hours.

"You should have woken me." John raised his head to kiss away the frown on Sherlock's face.

"It was only Harry." The frown returned, but before John could repeat his earlier motion, Sherlock shook his head.

"Still should have woken me." Sherlock finally released John to give him some space. John however had other ideas. Grabbing the detective by the head, he pulled him in for another searing kiss. Sherlock wound his arms back around the doctor, pulling him impossibly closer. John needed to know that while his sister would never change, Sherlock would love him just as constantly.

"Well we're both awake now. What do you want to do?" John asked mockingly. Sherlock smirked and cocked an eyebrow in response.

"I can think of a few things." And Sherlock pulled John by the hand into the bedroom. When they finally slept again nothing could drag them from each others arms. Except maybe an early morning visit from one of the highest ranking members of the British government and Secret Service, who just happened to be in the area for a cup of tea and a chat.

Needless to say, Sherlock was not happy to see his brother.

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A/N- This is fluff. Will have a proper plot next chapter.

Disclaimer- These characters are not mine. They belong to ACD, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and the BBC. Just borrowing the characters for a while.

Please read and review.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N- This is to all who reviewed Chapter 1. Thank you so much. Sorry this is taking a while. Unfortunately, school work keeps getting in the way.

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John woke to a lukewarm space to his right hand side and some very loud voices emanating from downstairs. Deciding it was far too early to be awake, he rolled over to try to go back to the land of nod.

"Do you practise being this insufferable, Mycroft, or is innate?"

John really wanted to bury his head under the pillow, however if Mycroft was here, then soon shots would be fired. From which brother was thankfully a question never yet answered. John rolled out of bed and pulled on the t-shirt and jeans that had been discarded in Sherlock's haste last night. He could shower later, it sounded like the brothers Holmes' needed him now-ish. They tended to be somewhat more restrained with their insults when someone else was present. Mostly.

"Really Sherlock, you're being childish. Why can't you just admit that I won and you lost?" John was half way down the stairs at this point and couldn't stop the smile that showed on his face. He could almost see Sherlock's sneer.

"You didn't win Mycroft. You cheated." John was slightly confused to the topic of discussion.

"I did not cheat, I merely read the rules thoroughly. I believe you were too impatient at the time." John suddenly had an awful idea where this was going.

"I was four Mycroft. Of course I was excited. Besides, we said no auctions, until some smart ass decided, when I was winning I might add, that since it was in the rules, we had to have auctions because otherwise, and I quote 'It would undermine the spirit of the game and if we're not going to play properly, Sherlock, then there's no point in playing at all.' Does any of this ring any bells?" John closed his eyes. The infamous Monopoly game of Christmas 1980. It always came back to that bloody game. One day he was going to lock them both in a room with a Monopoly board and let them settle it once and for all. And when they finally started to hit one another, he would swoop in and show them how you really play Monopoly (he hadn't lost since he was seven and he would not lose to the Holmes brothers, even though they do have the combined IQ of over 375).

"You could have simply waited till the start of the next game to change the rules, Mycroft. Half way

through does seem a little unfair," John said calmly as he strolled into the room. He saw Mycroft tense and knew that it was the closest he would ever come to actually startling the politician and so took as a personal score. John smiled at Sherlock and went to perch on the arm of his chair so they could both face Mycroft. Sherlock smiled back at the doctor before scowling at his brother.

"I told you to keep your voice down or you'd wake him." John chose not to point out that it had been his lover's insults that had woken him. Mycroft chose to ignore Sherlock completely.

"Good morning, John. Good night?" John's face hardened. The git knew what happened the night before, including his trip to the hospital. Sherlock noticed the shift in the atmosphere, bless him, he was learning, and quickly rounded on Mycroft while reaching out to entwine his hand with John's, out of Mycroft's line of sight. Silent support.

"I suggest you explain why you're here, Mycroft, before I let John punch you." John resented the implication that he would just punch on command. But then again, he did feel like giving Mycroft a black eye right now, so he wouldn't hold it against his lover.

Mycroft didn't look fazed but he did sit up a little straighter. John had a faint sense of deja vu. Last time Mycroft had looked at them like this he'd asked them to take the Andrew West case. That had ended with bombs, guns, snipers, psychopath's and no milk. Well, just one psychopath and they got the milk in the end. John just hoped this wouldn't end the same way.

"Feliks Kotova is back in England."

Hopes. Dashed.

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John found that he couldn't really absorb life altering news until he'd had his first cuppa of the morning. However, that couldn't be achieved while Sherlock both refused to move and refused to release the crushing grip he had on John's hand. So he settled down to wait and put tea at the top of the list of his things to get.

"Where?"

"When?" John simultaneously added. Once upon a time this made have made them smile. But the situation was far to serious, plus they were sort of used to it now. Mycroft, however, wasn't.

"You've got the double act down haven't you?" He mentioned with a quirky eyebrow. Both the men ignored this in favour of pointed stares that would hopefully encourage Mycroft to give them some answers. Mycroft drew in a breath and John thought for a moment that he looked like he was in pain but it soon passed.

"I don't know where he is and as far as I know he's been in the country at least a week."

John felt a little faint. Mycroft didn't know something. He tried to remember if this was one of the signs of the apocalypse or not. Sherlock however focused on the other piece of information.

"At least a week? Why weren't we told earlier?" Sherlock sounded outraged. He probably would have stood to tower over his brother if John hadn't practically fused their hands together and rested his shoulder over Sherlock's. Gentle, yet effective restraining methods. Although John was now in danger of falling onto his lovers lap. Sherlock's eyes widened at Mycroft's silence.

"You didn't know, did you? He got past your security." It was a statement not a question and Mycroft made no attempt to correct his younger brother. John was starting to feel phantom twinges in the left half of his stomach.

Mycroft's eyes flickered between him and Sherlock, but John couldn't quite read the emotion there, it looked a bit like, sorrow? But John was a bit more preoccupied with Sherlock's various curse words. Was that Swahili?

"Do you know anything?" Sherlock growled at his brother. John was considering letting Sherlock up. He needed to pace.

"I've been given a full report in the last twelve hours by an..." Mycroft was choosing his words carefully, "interested party."

Now Mycroft was being deliberately evasive and John had to let Sherlock up or be thrown of the chair.

"What bloody interested party?" Sherlock was seething, and John was getting annoyed to. Although he didn't want his lover to have an aneurysm.

"The Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation."

The unexpected voice made all three males jump and turn to the source of the sound. John was a little annoyed this stranger made Mycroft jump more than he had.

In the doorway stood a woman, about thirty-five years old. She was pale, with long red hair and grey eyes and had a strong Russian accent but spoke very clear English. While she wore a plain white blouse and black trousers, John recognised her stance was similar to his own if slightly stiffer. But then her organisation indicated military anyway. This just confirmed she was a field agent not just a pen pusher. Sherlock maybe able to identify airline pilots and international assassins, but John knew when he was looking at one of his own. Although this woman had deeper and darker shadows in her eyes than even him.

John turned to see Sherlock giving the woman an intent stare. With any other man John might be worried, after all, she was quite attractive, but not only did John trust Sherlock, he also knew him. That gaze meant Sherlock was reading their life history. Not checking them out. John knew what that gaze was like. He was on the receiving end of it several times a day.

The Russian woman smiled at the men and made her way over to them, inviting herself in.

"Colonel Anitchka Ivanov, FSB. Can we talk?"

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Disclaimer- These characters are not mine. They belong to ACD, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and the BBC. Just borrowing the characters for a while.

Please read and review.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N- This chapter is dedicated to **Elvendork-Infinity** and **ScopesMonkey** for their brilliant reviews for the last chapter. And, once again, I apologise for the long delay.

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John handed round the mugs. When he'd become the waiter was anyone's guess. It was probably in between a complete stranger inviting herself into their home, and Sherlock , Mycroft and said stranger, entering into some kind of three way staring competition. Ivanov was staring down Mycroft whist looking at Sherlock appraisingly (he'd have to keep an eye on that), Mycroft was glaring at both Ivanov and Sherlock. Sherlock was glaring at his brother out of habit, whist probably rounding off his conclusions about the Colonel.

John sat back down on the arm-chair whilst Sherlock chose to perch on the coffee table. John prepared himself for what should be an interesting speech from the Colonel. However it was Mycroft who spoke first.

"I asked you to wait," Mycroft admonished, switching his glare solely to the Colonel. John winced. A soldier of her rank would not appreciate being spoken to like she was a five year old. Colonel Ivanov glared at the politician from the sofa.

"With all due respect, Mr. Holmes," there was no trace of respect in her voice "We don't have time to wait around."

Sherlock gripped his mug rather more firmly than necessary before talking. John knew how much he hated being unable to contribute to important conversations.

"Sorry but any time you feel like letting us in on this fascinating conversation, let us know." John smirked. This was going to be interesting. Mycroft and Sherlock were like little boys competing for centre stage most days. How would they react to having someone else enter the limelight? Gods knows he was never allowed to.

"Feliks Kotova has been on the wanted list of the FSB, FBI and Interpol for about five years now. However, the main focus has always been on catching his boss "Don" Semion Mogilevich." The hate and loathing was almost visible in her voice. John was starting to understand the shadows in her eyes. He vaguely wondered how long she'd been after these men.

"Until now" Sherlock murmured. John threw a glance at the genius. What was he thinking? Anitchka nodded.

"We received intelligence approximately eighteen hours ago that Kotova had made his way to England on a mission for Mogilevich. If Kotova succeeds it will set us back years in our plans to bring down Mogilevich." John was starting to understand why a high ranking member of the Russian secret service was in their living room.

"So Kotova is now the immediate concern," John stated rather than asked. All three heads turned to look at him. Ivanonv nodded again. Sherlock turned to face her.

"So do you know what he's up to or do you need me to work that out, as well as find him for you?"

John half expected Ivanov to bristle at Sherlock's superior and sarcastic remark. But she merely met his stare with one of her own. John couldn't help smiling. This should be interesting.

"Kotova has been sent to assassinate seventeen members of various political and security organisations from around the world. All seventeen are scheduled to meet at twenty-one hundred hours this evening at the English SIS headquarters at Vauxhall Cross."

If Sherlock had been interested before, he was fascinated now. John thought his lover rather resembled a blood hound who had just caught a particularly appetising scent. John was, however, a little more cautious.

"Organisations?" He had a terrible idea they would be rather big ones that he and Sherlock were about accept responsibility for.

"FBI, CIA, Interpol, MI6, FSB and others of course." Yep, pretty big.

"Can't you just tell them to come back another day when there isn't a mass murdering assassin after them?" Sometimes John really wished he could gag Sherlock. To her credit, Anitchka didn't rise to Sherlock's bait.

"Unfortunately, they all have rather busy schedules and could only make it this evening." Sherlock nodded his head in attention to the coolly executed come back. Mycroft was remaining suspiciously quiet. This both confused and worried John. Holmes' were only ever quiet when they were planning something.

"So what's so important they're risking their lives?" John asked hopping to speed this up. He needed to know whether to get his gun out or make another cuppa tea and go back to bed.

"Before she died, Lidija Triron was able to give us some important information on the future plans and past activities of both Mogilevich and the entire organisation. This is the biggest break we've had on this in fifteen years. This meeting will decide how far we can go with the information. Unfortunately it won't be as good as it would have been with Triron stand as witness, but it's still good. Kotova cannot be allowed to stop this meeting, or we'll be back to square one."

John was ninety percent sure he was getting his gun out. Sherlock wouldn't be able to resist something like this. Let alone the opportunity to catch Kotova. He did hate it when they escaped. But, he was the world's only consulting detective. It was up to Sherlock. The man in question finished his tea and reached over to grab John's before speaking.

"You want me to catch him, before he has a chance to get into Vauxhall cross and massacre the occupants with absolutely no prior knowledge of his whereabouts and the very high possibility of me ending up dead. Correct?" John frowned. Did he have to paint it in such a negative light?

The Colonel nodded once more. She looked caught between resigned and defeated. Sherlock's whole continuance lit up, but John sensed something was off.

"Excellent, but John's going to have to sit this one out. Still healing from last time."

And there it was. The stupid idiot was doing the caring thing again. Honestly he didn't know how to meet someone halfway. Either he didn't give a shit about someone or he tried to wrap them up in cotton wool and never let them leave the house (or the bedroom some days, but not really for the same reasons).

"I've got a clean bill of health, Sherlock, have had for a month, so don't even try it," John said standing up. They had to get this straight before going any further. He grabbed his tea back as well.

"You are not going after an international assassin without me." Sherlock looked ready to protest. John decided to go in for the kill.

"Unless of course you want to sleep in your old room." It was a low blow, especially in front of Sherlock's brother, but John needed to be with him during this. He had a very bad feeling it was going to end with another hospital stay. Better the hospital than the morgue though. Besides, Sherlock worked better with him there, neither of them knew why, it was just an accepted fact.

John inched closer to the now standing genius.

"Last time this man was in the country and we were separated, I died." Sherlock winced. John took his hand.

"Sherlock. Don't push me away." Sherlock held onto John's hand even tighter. It was going to be completely crushed by the end of the day at this rate.

"I can't see you get hurt again." John really wished they weren't having this conversation in front of Anitchka and Mycroft.

"You won't." John prayed he could keep that promise. At that moment they probably would have kissed (bit cheesy, but then films had to get their ideas from somewhere), but Mycroft decided to make his presence known for the first time in fifteen minutes.

"You'll both take the case then." It wasn't a question but Sherlock always had to have the last word when it came to his brother, or anyone really .

"Obviously."

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Disclaimer- These characters are not mine. They belong to ACD, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and the BBC. Just borrowing the characters for a while.

Please read and review.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as the Colonel and Mycroft left, Sherlock dragged John up to their bedroom.

"Er Sherlock, don't we have an assassin to catch?" John wondered out loud. They really didn't have time for sex. Sherlock whirled round to face John slightly confused. John felt himself being examined by those all seeing eyes. Sherlock's face cleared but his eyes carried on boring into the doctor making him vaguely wonder if it was possible to reduce bones to jelly with a stare.

"Save that thought for later John," Sherlock standing far too close for John to keep track of his thoughts, let alone recall them later.

"Right now, we need to get dressed." It was only at this moment that John noticed Sherlock was wearing his ratty old pyjamas. John made a mental note to throw them away at some point in the near future.

Thirty minutes later, freshly washed and dress the two men were in a taxi heading towards Lambeth. John, as usual, had no idea what Sherlock was thinking, doing or where they were going.

"Okay, you've got questions," Sherlock stated with a grin that John mirrored. It had been less than a year since Sherlock had first said that to John in the back of a cab. So much had changed since then, thought John, as he looked down at their entwined hands on the car seat. But his response hadn't.

"Yeh, where are we going?"

"Lambeth, to see an old friend. I'm just hoping she'll see me at such short notice. Or at all." John sensed a story, but when Sherlock didn't continue, he let it drop and let him carry on texting at the speed of light. Even one handed, Sherlock typed faster than anyone John had ever met.

"You texting your friend?" Sherlock snorted.

"And give her time to find the hack saw?" John was getting more alarmed by the second. Who the hell were they going to meet?

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Ten minutes later John was sitting in a small but bright office, while Sherlock was pacing a hole in the floor between the John, the desk and the window and back again. John was feeling nervous enough. He had no idea who they were meeting and Sherlock had probably broken the lock to get in the office. Just when John had worked up the courage to ask Sherlock about this mystery woman, he heard voices coming down the corridor.

"I left my purse in my car, could you go and get it please?" It was a surprisingly young and friendly voice that belonged to a twenty-five-ish young woman who turned the corner into the office. She looked fairly harmless, which John knew could be ridiculous, but he was used to most of Sherlock's acquaintances looking fairly rough. Even Angelo had more than one prison tattoo. This woman looked like she belonged in university, especially with the bag of files swung over her shoulder. She was wearing a long floral skirt and biker boots and she had long, chocolate brown hair tied back in a messy bun. She reminded John of a hippy. She certainly didn't look like she belonged in an office like this. The other woman she was talking to looked much more professional. Both looked surprised to find the door open and the men sat in the office. However the professional assistant went from shocked to smirking when she saw Sherlock while the first ladys's eyes turned decidedly icy. Maybe not so harmless.

"Oh, and there should be a crow bar in the boot. If you could get that as well please, Becky, thank you." Becky took this as a dismissal even though the young woman never took her eyes off Sherlock. John had no idea if she would get the crow bar or not.

"Sherlock Holmes." She sneered. John wondered if Sherlock was about to be slapped as she moved forward.

"You've got some nerve showing up here." John frowned at Sherlock's smile. He somehow knew this was not the way to ease the situation.

"Good to see you too Kate." This seemed to break the icy veneer and let out an inferno of rage. John had thought she was surely too young to be Sherlock's ex-girlfriend. Now he wasn't so sure.

"Nine months! Sherlock!" Kate yelled up at the detective. John winced at the volume. At least he wasn't standing right in front of her like Sherlock.

"Nine bloody months. You could've been dead for all I knew. No phone call, no text, no email. You disappear off the radar. And now you break into my office and all I get is a "good to see you Kate"."

John knew it wasn't the main point but he was impressed at her impression of the detective. She had the voice spot on, including volume. Sherlock was clearly less impressed at the outburst.

"No one's ever off your radar Kate. You know very well what I've been doing for the last nine months and I've been very much alive the whole time. As for the lack of communication," he paused and John knew he was attempting to come up with an excuse.

"I've been busy," Sherlock stated with a shrug. John wondered if his genius lover knew that was the lamest excuse ever. Kate obviously did.

"Sherlock, you have an IQ of over 190. It takes a third of that to pick up a phone and send a text and it takes less time to type and send an email than it does to shoot a smiley face in your living room wall." John was very interested to know how she knew that. And did she just successfully tell Sherlock off? He was impressed again.

"What do want, Kate?" She raised a finger at Sherlock and John couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"You, to tell me what the hell you want so I can say no, and you can leave," Sherlock began to reply but Kate poked him viscously with her finger. "But first you can introduce us."

Before Sherlock could reply, Kate whirled round to face John, the action made all the more dramatic by her long skirt flaring out. John idly wondered if it was rehearsed. Rather than coming face to face with a enraged, jealous ex-lover, John found himself shaking hands with a beaming young woman who seemed rather pleased at the whole situation.

"Glad to meet you at last Dr Watson. Sorry you had to see that but I've had that rant pent up for over nine months." John wasn't sure what to say. The switch from mad to happily polite had given him whiplash. He looked at Sherlock who gave him a smile of encouragement, still rubbing his chest where Kate had poked him.

"Um, that's fine Miss..." Kate smiled at the gentlemanly manners.

"Benton. But everyone calls me Kate." John couldn't help but like her. Even if she did seem to have some kind of history with Sherlock.

"Its fine Kate. I've shouted at him on more than one occasion." She laughed at that and sat down at her desk.

"I reckon everyone who's ever met him has shouted at him, or about him, or both." Sherlock huffed and sat down next to the laughing doctor.

"Right, if the introductions are out of the way. Can we get down to business?"

Kate seemed to automatically straighten up and all her attention was suddenly on Sherlock. Now John could see a professional.

"Go on then. Who is it this time?"

"Colonel Anitchka Ivanov and Feliks Kotova"

Kate paused. It was quick and hardly noticeable. But John lived with Sherlock Holmes, who's body language was almost as fast as his mind. John could notice a quick pause and so would Sherlock. But she was a first class actress.

"Sorry, Russians are outside my jurisdiction." Sherlock smirked.

"You don't have a jurisdiction, Kate. That's why I come to you." Kate laughed.

"You come to me to get information fast. Go out side the EU and I'm going to need thirty-five hours at least. Fast for you means five hours max."

John smiled. She obviously knew Sherlock well. But why wasn't she telling them the whole story?

Surprisingly Sherlock didn't press her.

"Okay, well sorry to have wasted your time. Send me the bill for the door." John hurried to catch up with Sherlock as he made for the door. He never gave up that easy.

"Sherlock!" The genius and the doctor turned.

"Say hi to Angelo next time you see him. I haven't seen him in a couple of months." Sherlock practically beamed at her. John was now very confused.

"Sure." And with that he turned and exited the office. John ran to catch up with barely a muttered bye to Kate.

* * *

Disclaimer- These characters are not mine. They belong to ACD, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and the BBC. Just borrowing the characters for a while.

Please read and review.


	5. Chapter 5

Five minutes later they were sat at Angelo's in their usual window seat. The owner had welcomed with his usual enthusiastic offer of free food and drink for his favourite couple. John no longer protested at the candle, although it was a little unusual at ten in the morning, but he supposed it was just tradition now. Besides, John was more preoccupied with his partner's strange behaviour. They had an highly interesting case, on an international level, with a time limit no less (God, you could make a bloody TV show about their life). Yet he was happily sitting at the restaurant table, not even glancing out the window at the city he loved so much. Sherlock was just sitting there in uncharacteristic stillness and silence. After a minute or two, John broke. Sherlock smirked, obviously expecting his lover to crack sooner or later.

"Not that I'm not enjoying the coffee, and I really hate to be obvious, but shouldn't we be looking Kotova?"

"We are."

John really hated it when Sherlock got cryptic. But the genius needed an audience and would explain his brilliance soon enough. John just had to wait him out. Unfortunately, Sherlock had somehow discovered patience.

"Okay," John said with a long suffering sigh. "What have you managed to do this time?" Sherlock beamed at John's surrender and began to explain.

"I have several people in my homeless network keeping an eye out for Kotova and they'll report to me as soon as he surfaces. No point in trying to find him yet. He's done nothing for me to track. But he will soon. In the mean time, Kate is going to meet us in a few minutes and give us all the information she has on Kotova and Ivanov."

John blinked. Then took a sip of coffee to try and get his mind around all that. It didn't work.

"Okay. A, When did you contact your homeless network?" It wasn't the most pressing question but it was best start out small. Sherlock waved his phone at the doctor and John remembered the rapid texting in the cab before they'd reached Kate's office.

"What are homeless people doing with mobiles?" Hadn't been on the original list, but conversations with Sherlock always raised more questions than they answered.

"I provide cheap mobiles with a limited amount of credit to my more trusted contacts. They know not to abuse the privilege if they want to keep their sole source of steady income." John was once again impressed at the simplicity of his partner's methods. He just managed to put it all together a thousand times faster than mere mortals.

"What about Kate? She said she didn't have anything for us?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Like I said, nothing is out of Kate's jurisdiction. She knows more than she's willing to say in her bugged office." John was once again confused.

"Her office is bugged?" Sherlock nodded grimly.

"All the offices of Mycroft's employees are bugged. Paranoid, nosey git. So she told us to meet her here." John dimly remembered Kate mentioning Angelo in passing, which must have tipped Sherlock as to where to meet, but John was still stuck on the Mycroft part.

"Wait, back up a second. Kate works for Mycroft?" A soft and newly familiar female voice answered behind him.

"Only on a freelance basis." John turned to face Kate standing with three fresh coffees. "And I much prefer working with Sherlock."

She sat next to John, opposite Sherlock, and shared out the coffees. John took an experimental sip and wasn't really surprised to find it was exactly how he liked it, milky, no sugar. He gotten used to people knowing everything about him since he'd moved in with Sherlock. He was more surprised to see that Kate had changed since fifteen minutes ago. She was now wearing a nondescript female office suit, and her long brown hair was now arranged around her shoulders. He didn't fail to notice it would probably cover face from CCTV cameras without being obvious. Dressed like this, the young woman suddenly reminded the doctor of someone, but he couldn't place his finger on who.

"So what have you got?" Sherlock asked abruptly, ignoring the coffee. Kate arched an eyebrow before glancing out the bay window. Sherlock followed her gaze.

"You were followed." John noted the lack of a question mark.

"Undoubtedly, knowing your brother." Kate sighed, and John wondered how long she'd worked with the Holmes' brothers to know them so well. Proof he'd probably met another mind reader, Kate turned to talk to John.

"Mycroft gets me to do all the unofficial digging on other governments. Mostly when he needs to stay friends but still wants to know about the skeletons in their closets without causing an international incident. Discreet background checks are what he calls them. And they can never be traced back to him."

John was impressed once again with the young woman in front of him and silently wondered if she was related to the Holmes' to be able to pull this off at such a young age.

"So what did he get you to find Kotova and Ivanov?" Sherlock whispered insistently. John could tell the small talk was getting on his nerves. Kate picked up her coffee and took a sip, deliberately taking her time to annoy the detective.

"Mycroft got me looking into Feliks Kotova five months ago, shortly after you were shot, John." Sherlock glared at the hacker, but John was glad she did try to hedge around the subject. He'd been shot and one day Sherlock was going to have to get used to it. Sherlock did not share the same opinion as his partner.

"Anyway," Kate dragged out, sensing the shift in atmosphere, "I haven't got much on him that you haven't worked out already. Except, since the shooting, his movements have been erratic."

Sherlock frowned, forgetting his earlier sulk.

"Erratic how?"

"He'll go weeks without a blip on the radar, before suddenly appearing in random corners of the world for no sensible reason. As far as my contacts can work out, he hasn't worked since England either, but he's definitely still in contact with Mogilevich, so he hasn't fallen out with

his boss, he's just not killing anyone for the first time in over a decade. And travelling."

John could practically see Sherlock's mind spinning, trying to take this information and fit it into the pattern in his head. John, for one, couldn't see anything in it, but he wasn't the world's only consulting detective. Sherlock could see connections that were barely there. John wasn't even going to try and follow his thought processes. After a few moments, Sherlock waved for Kate to continue.

"I do have some more on Ivanov though," she began. " I can tell you right now she's personally invested in catching Feliks Kotova. Don't ask me how." Sherlock closed his mouth, effectively stopping that exact question, allowing Kate to continue.

"Her record shows a perfect military career, starting straight from school, climbing her way though the ranks until about seven years ago where she jumps at the chance to join The Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You can't just call it the FSB?" John could have sworn she almost huffed at being interrupted.

"Anyway," the young woman continued, "at this point it gets a bit vague. They've got really good firewalls that need more than a few hours to crack, although I'm still trying." Once again answering Sherlock's question before he could actually ask it.

"What I did manage to get shows that she's been a major player in every attempted operation against Semion Mogilevich. Ivanov's spearheaded every attack on him for the past five years in several operations, often ignoring evidence that would bring down other key players, in favour of trying to get the Don."

"She's more interested in bringing down the man than the organisation." Sherlock murmured aloud. Kate nodded.

"Even to the detriment of her own health. Ivanov's had umpteen threats on her life and several attempts, including one that left in a coma for ten days. She had to pull in every favour she had to carry on working after that stunt. Although she didn't avoid the dressing down she received from her superiors after she was given a clean bill of health. Nothing has distracted her from her goal. Ever. Until five months ago."

Both Kate and Sherlock shot John a look. The timing didn't escape any of them.

"Five months ago, Ivanov personally requested a transfer to the Kotova case." Kate approached the subject carefully.

"That night was the closest Kotova has ever come to being caught. Most agree that he's jumpy from this unprecedented event and that's why he's hopping around the globe like Bugs Bunny." Sherlock didn't look convinced. More confused actually, but John made a mental note to introduce his lover to Looney Tunes when this was all over.

"From what I could find, no one really questioned the transfer. Some even welcomed it. Many believed she was a little too dedicated to bringing down Mogilevich. Apparently it was widely believed she's given up on the Don and is now pursuing easier prey."

John gave her a quizzical glance.

"Their words, not mine," holding up her hands in the universal surrender gesture. John shook his head.

"The woman fights her way out of a coma and they think she's _giving up_?" The doctor asked incredulously.

"You only leave one fanatical, unfinished mission for a more important, _personal_, fanatical mission," Sherlock muttered staring at John but not really seeing him. John knew at the moment Sherlock only had eyes for the case.

They all jumped at the sound of Sherlock's and John's mobiles going off at the same time. John knew it had to be Lestrade. He'd taken to sending them both the same message to make sure it got through if Sherlock was doing an experiment. John ignored his since Sherlock had already found his phone and was smiling at the text. It always made John slightly uncomfortable to know that that expression on his lover's face often meant someone had just died. He wasn't wrong.

"It seems our friend has finally surfaced." Sherlock downed his coffee in one before turning to Kate.

"Keep looking for what's got Ivanov in such a state. Text me or John with any new information. It has to be important or Mycroft would have told me." Kate just nodded, knowing that Sherlock didn't need any other reply. John noticed she didn't ask for his number. With that Sherlock was up and out the door with John close behind. Kate quickly spun in her seat to grab John's arm, forcing him to pause. She got out her phone, a Blackberry and noted down her number on a napkin for him. Seeing her fingers ghost skilfully over the keys of the hand-held device, John finally realised who she reminded him of.

"Um, I don't suppose you've got a sister called Anthea do you?" John often found the direct approach worked best with Sherlock. He couldn't quite work out when he'd adopted the method with most people, not just his partner. Kate handed him her number with a smile.

"I've got three sisters but none of them called Anthea." The sparkle in her eye and knowing smile told John otherwise.

"But I can tell Melanie to stop using our aunt's name next she kidnaps me for a meeting with Mycroft if you like." Kate beamed at the doctor's stunned reaction. She just loved springing her dysfunctional family on people. John was a little stumped for a moment at the revelation that Anthea tended to kidnap her own sister. But then Mycroft frequently kidnapped his brother's lover, so it made sense. In a weird, crazy, what-kind-of-people-do-I-know-now way. He then randomly wondered if all the sisters had Blackberries. Jolted out of his trance by Sherlock's impatient bellow, John turned to leave only to be stopped once more be the brunette.

"Congratulations." John didn't have to ask what she was congratulating him for. Kate's smile was gentle and sincere as she glanced to Sherlock standing outside the window then back to John. John covered her hand which held his arm and gave it a squeeze.

"Thank you." And with that he finally left the restaurant and climbed into the cab Sherlock had waiting.

* * *

Disclaimer- These characters are not mine. They belong to ACD, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat and the BBC. Just borrowing the characters for a while.

Please read and review.


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